


my voice is straight garroting wire

by Analyse (D_Willims)



Series: it'll still be two days till we say we're sorry [6]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: (Except Vanya who is a Marshmallow), And Has Infected them All, And Is Thoroughly Truamatized, Author Has Read Some Comics, Gen, I Heard A Rumor There's No Incest, Remind that Abuse is Insidious, Sometimes Children Just Protect Themselves, There's No Good Guys In This One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 16:20:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18626827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_Willims/pseuds/Analyse
Summary: Three times Allison used her powers against her brothers. And the time that programming bit her in the ass.





	my voice is straight garroting wire

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title from "Hell-On" by Neko Case.
> 
> Series title from "One Week" by the Bare Naked Ladies.

“I heard a rumor you want to fight back.” 

They’re ten. And Two has been pulling his punches. He’s been pulling his punches ever since they moved off the bags to start one-on-one combat training. Dad’s threatening to change the ranking. Again. It feels like the hundredth time he’s made the threat.

The surge of anger in Three is a little stronger each time. It’s an idle and hollow threat and _she_ knows it even if none of the boys seem to ever understand. Her ranking is fixed. Forever. If Four didn’t burst into tears at a moment’s notice and if Five didn’t question every order, Three wouldn’t even be Three.

She knows this because last week she used One’s momentum against him and pinned him to the mat. Pogo counted them out and everything. Dad had yet to acknowledge that such an unseating had even happened.

Two doesn’t get to keep holding back, afraid to hurt her. Three already aches.

So she takes him down with a left hook—he never expects the left hook. Pins him and leans in close to whisper in his ear. _Fight back, **fight back**. You coward, fight me. Put me in my place_. If she has to be Number Three, the least Two could do was actually be better than her.

And even knowing what she’d done, Three is still surprised when the fist collides with her jaw, when she’s knocked backwards off of him. Then, he’s on top of her, hitting back, snarling and biting. That first fight is the worst. All blood and violence and barely restrained anger.

They’re both exhausted and battered when Dad finally, _finally_ calls it. “That’s enough,” he commands, voice echoing across the concrete training space.

It’s like Two doesn’t even hear him. He hits her again. And again. Three isn’t entirely certain she minds. There’s a _relief_ in it for her that she can’t even begin to explain.

“Number Two, that’s _enough_.” Two stops, breathing harshly, but he hasn’t pulled away from Three. His fist is still in the air. “Number Three, remind him of the rules.”

She considers ignoring the order outright. Two has already stopped. He _knows_ the rules. But refusing the order would only cause more problems down the line. For all of them. Three stands straight and tall, clasps her hands behind her back. “I heard a rumor you follow orders,” she says. Following the script Dad has given her.

Two drops his hands to his sides all at once, steps back. Every inch of him is trembling and he looks at her with wide, wet eyes. He doesn’t cry, then.

“Next time, you will follow through promptly, Number Three,” Dad criticizes now. “You are a vain, foolish creature and it’s going to get you killed if you can’t break yourself of these bad habits.” He turns on his heel and leaves out the door that leads to his office.

Only when the door slams behind him does Three screw up her courage to spit a mouthful of blood in his direction.

And Two cries later that night. Three hears him through the thin wall they share and sneaks into his bed, shushes him. Tells herself she’ll never use her powers against her family again.

-

“I heard a rumor you don’t want to open the door.”

They’re fifteen. And Luther’s almost out the bakery door, backpack over his shoulder and record player clutched to his chest. One of his arms is in a fresh cast. His one-on-one training had gone horribly wrong. Allison doesn’t know—never learns—if his arm broke against the thick concrete walls or if Dad punished him for his failure.

She knows she only says those words because Dad’s hand is on her shoulder. Fingers curl around Allison’s shoulder and squeeze so tight she thinks he leaves bruises. And _still_ she tries to give him an escape. There’s other doors, there’s windows. A thousand ways out of this monstrosity of a house. _Run away, Luther_ , she wills. _Get out before he destroys you_.

Luther doesn’t; he crumples under the weight of Dad’s glare. He closes the door and slides to the floor, curls his knees to his chest. Allison swears she can see tears in the corners of his eyes.

Dad squeezes her shoulder tighter. Allison thinks her bones might actually crack under his hand. Her gaze flits to the cast on Luther’s arm and she worries her lip between her teeth. Only for a moment, though. And then she follows the script, says what Dad told her to say. “I heard a rumor you didn’t want to be such a disappointment.”

And then Dad let’s go all at once. It’s not a relief.

This time the change isn’t as sudden. But Luther sets the record player down and wipes at his eyes with his good hand. He’s still trembling but he nods at Dad.

“Clean up this mess, Number Three.” Dad shoves her forward. He turns on his heel and walks out of the kitchen. It’s not over; she knows that because it’s never over.

Allison waits, holds her breath. Counts his steps until she can’t hear them anymore. And, once she’s sure they’re alone, she rushes forward and drops to her knees next to Luther. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, repeats it over and over because that’s the only thing she _could_ say.

“Why?” he asks. His voice cracks a little and he swallows. “How…?”

It hurts. Actually, physically _hurts._ Carefully, cautiously, Allison wraps her arms around her brother’s shoulders, pulls him into her and rests her cheek on the top of his head. “I’m sorry,” she keeps whispering.

Luther doesn’t cry, doesn’t hug her back. And he doesn’t push her away for what’s she done to him, either. He just let’s her hold him tightly. It’s a long time before he smiles again after that.

\--

“I heard a rumor you don’t want to look.”

They’re sixteen. And Klaus is _trembling_ as Diego ties a tourniquet around what’s left of Allison’s arm.

_“Little girls taste the best,” Dr. Terminal says as he leans into her. His grin is wide and his teeth are sharp and his breath smells like rot. “So sweet and tender…”_

Allison wraps her arm around the back of her brother’s head and pulls him down to her good shoulder. Klaus inhales shuddering breaths and exhales gasping sobs; his breath is hot against her skin. He smells like stale cigarettes and sour vomit. She tangles her hand in sweat-damp curls.

“Don’t look,” she whispers. So quiet because she imagines Dad is around the corner somewhere, waiting for them to come back. Mission accomplished. “It’s okay, just don’t look.”

She sways slightly, from side to side. And some of it is the blood loss, the pain. But for the most part it’s trying to comfort Klaus. Trying to get him to stop crying like a baby.  Klaus isn’t going to be able to survive whatever punishment Dad devises for him for this indiscretion.

They crash to the floor. And she doesn’t even realize they’re falling until her knees hit the metal floor with a jolt. Klaus cries out against Allison’s neck. Sobs even harder as his thin arms wind around her, cling too tightly.

In the background she can hear Luther hitting Dr. Terminal over and over. The goblin of a man must be nearly dead by now. And Allison hears the metal on metal sound of Diego’s knives dragging through equipment.

“Dad’s coming.” Ben sounds distant and flat. The quiet way he says _can we go home now?_ when he’s dripping blood and holding his stomach together.

“Klaus…” Allison says. But her brother only holds on tighter, suctions to her like he’s one of Ben’s tentacles. And Dad _cannot_ see him like this. “I heard a rumor that you stopped crying.”

It’s sudden. Klaus shudders one last time against her and then his sobs abruptly cut off. His eyes are still red and puffy and he’s still trembling. But he’s not actively crying and, honestly, she doesn’t think Dad will look that closely. Doesn’t think he’ll even notice the way they lean into each other when they finally manage to stand, Klaus’s arm wrapped tightly around Allison’s waist to hold her up.

If she’s honest, she’s surprised Dad even notices her arm is missing.

\--

_I heard a rumor you that you want to leave with me_.

They’re twenty-nine. And Vanya is finally, **finally** home. Except Luther’s fucked it all up. Of course, he did. He wants to be Dad’s perfect little soldier. Even now. Dad’s gone and Pogo’s a fucking liar and Mom’s programming has gone all wrong. Luther’s still trying to live up to the expectations on his shoulders.

“She hurt you,” Luther tries to explain. As if that justifies what the hell is happening right in front of them. Klaus looks away like the coward he’s always been and Diego’s jaw is twitching but he doesn’t reach for his knives like he’s supposed to.

She writes _MY FAULT_ on her pad of paper and holds it up for him. Leans against the wall for support. Allison still feels woozy, felt dizzier as she watches Vanya scream and scream and _scream_.

And Luther’s still talking, still trying to justify shit.

“Fuck you,” Allison tries to scream. Can’t make a sound. She’s left just mouthing the words over and over again. As her hands slam down on his weak shoulder. The one he dislocated in training and Dad never let it heal properly. But it’s solid muscle, now, and Luther flinches but doesn’t cave. So she does it again and again.

Luther doesn’t push her away. Barely even moves except to let his hands hover awkwardly near her back. Ready to steady her, maybe, or to pull her off him.

Vanya slams her fists against the glass, screams and screams and screams but Allison can’t hear her through the thick walls. Allison slams her fists against Luther’s chests again and again. Tries desperately to close the difference between her and her sister. Searches her brothers’ faces for aids. Klaus and Diego look away.

They’ve never been any help.

“Fuck you,” she mouths again. Allison tries to punch Luther again when her knees give out and she fists her hands in his overcoat instead. Sobs until she can’t force any more air into her lungs. “Fuck you, fuck you,” she keeps mouthing the words over and over again, “fuck you, fuck you, fuck you…”

At least Luther has the decency to catch her before she hits the ground, wraps his arms around her and strokes her hair. The hug leaves her cold.

“Allison…” Klaus still won’t _look at her_. What a fucking coward. But he reaches out to stroke a hand down her arm, skips over the scar. “You need to rest.” He sucks in a breath. “We’ll take care of Vanya.” And usually he’s a better liar than this; he didn’t even have the courage to lie to her properly.

“I’ll take her.” Diego shoves against Luther’s shoulder and Luther lets go instantly. Allison tries to make another dive for Vanya but her knees feel like jelly. And Diego catches her as she tilts, sweeps her up into his arms princess-style.

She’s never hated him more than she does in that moment. “Fuck you,” she mouths.

“You need to rest,” Diego echoes Klaus. It’s the first time he doesn’t take the bait and fight back. His jaw just twitches and he stares steadfastly forward as he starts to walk down the hall. Allison ignores him and reaches over his shoulder, strains to get to Vanya until she’s out of sight.

_I heard a rumor you’re safe at home._

They don't have a home.

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my headcanon that Luther never left because he has agoraphobia. He can pull it together for missions but otherwise Allison used her powers against him and now he's terrified of leaving the house.
> 
> Also I think the stuff with Dr. Terminal is the only stuff I'm bringing in from the comics because I legit can't let that go. Reginald Hargreeves cloned Allison's arm and developed a serum to make that transplant surgery easier which is why she still has two arms. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
> 
> Also Reggie is a raging misogynist and that's why Allison is ranked three instead of one (also why she got murdered for lying to him in that one issue I also can't forget) and why Vanya throwing a relatively minor tantrum at four is described as "chaos." I don't make the rules. I just know that Vanya wouldn't have caused the apocalypse if Reggie wasn't so annoyed when women don't listen to him.


End file.
